


Play the Game

by universityofwhales



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, I love how the Bentley is a character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:06:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19128901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universityofwhales/pseuds/universityofwhales
Summary: Crowley challenges Aziraphale to a game. No one is allowed to do any miracles. The loser will have to do what the winner says for 24 hours. This is how the game was played.





	Play the Game

**Author's Note:**

> There are some very, VERY minor references to One Night Couldn't Hurt. Otherwise, this fic could be read as a stand-alone entry.
> 
> Open up your mind and let me step inside  
> Rest your weary head and let your heart decide

Aziraphale looked up from his book. "A game?"

"Yeah." Crowley was sprawled out on the couch, his legs resting on Aziraphale's lap. "I thought you liked games?"

"I do. But your games always end up with at least one human fainting and me having to explain where I was when a giant serpent was roaming the zoo nearby."

"That was one time! Thought would be funny."

"You thought it would be 'funny' to hang onto one of the trees and terrorize children that happened to walk by?"

"Yes. And it was. Until one of the zookeepers locked me up."

"And it just so happened that the locks were so rusted that all you had to do was push open the door to escape."

"Thanks for that."

"Mmhm." Aziraphale flipped a page.

"But this game is going to be different."

"Mm?" He mumbled, half listening to Crowley's ideas. Even if he read this book hundreds of times, Oscar Wilde still caught his attention.

"And the loser," he raised a finger in an attempt to catch the angel's attention, "must do whatever the winner says for 24 hours."

"I'll pass, thank you." Besides, he was getting to a good part. It was taking all his mental energy to both listen to Crowley and read his book.

"Come on, angel! Think of what that possibly entails!"

"Yes, but there's the risk I lose, and then we have to go to the bottom of the ocean so you can meet the Kraken or something ridiculous like that."

"What makes you think I would do that?"

"After drinking copious amounts of alcohol, of course."

Crowley opened his mouth, thought about his options, then closed it. "Well, not this time. This time, it will be more well-thought out than that!"

"Mmhm." Aziraphale turned another page.

"What about you?"

The angel was brought back to his bookshop, on his sofa instead of Victorian era London. He blinked, adjusting himself to the present day, and looked at Crowley. "Me?"

"Yes, you. We're the only ones here, remember? You closed the shop for the day."

"Oh, yes. Right." He wasn't in the mood for customers today. Honestly, he didn't know how humans can run a shop every single day and still keep a good attitude. Besides, he preferred Crowley's company much more than anyone else who could step into the shop. Maybe if Oscar Wilde himself rose from the dead and entered his shop like nothing ever happened, Aziraphale would still pick Crowley. Besides, Wilde would probably be covered in dirt and worms, and there was nothing the angel hated more than people tracking in mud.

"Come on," Crowley egged him on, "there must be something you would want me to do."

He was right. Since Aziraphale had spent that one night at Crowley's flat, there were a few things he thought about. And since Heaven and Hell decided to leave them alone, there was nothing to stop him from doing these things. But he can't just say that to Crowley's face. Even the simple act of saying he loved him took a large amount of energy to get out of his mouth. But oh dear, it was always so rewarding when Crowley said it back. Feeling his cheeks heat up slightly, Aziraphale murmured. "Well, I suppose...No, that's stupid."

"What?" Crowley threw an arm over Aziraphale's shoulder. "Come on, spill it!"

"It's nothing for you to be concerned about!"

"If you don't tell me," he hissed in his ear, "I'll tell every human I come across how lovely your bookshop is and oh, they should drop by sssometime and see what they find."

His eyes widened in fear. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would."

That tone in Crowley's voice always meant he was serious. Aziraphale always heard it when he was tempting people, whispering blasphemous thoughts into their head, telling them that one little transgression never hurt anyone. And damn it all, Aziraphale was taking the bait.

"I'll tell you."

"Yesss?"

"In fact, you'll find out if I win the game."

A chuckle rose from Crowley's throat. "Now you're willing to entertain me?"

"If it means you'll be quiet, yes."

For a minute, they looked at each other. An angel and a demon, facing a battle for their dignity. Crowley's eyes bore into Aziraphale's, as if they were searching for a gift and taking a small peek before hiding it back like nothing ever happened.

"Right!" Crowley suddenly stood up, causing Aziraphale to jump in his seat. "Then here are the rules! Very simple, don't worry your pretty little head."

"Just tell me already."

"Starting tomorrow," he clapped his hands together, "no miracles."

Aziraphale blinked. "No miracles?"

"None at all."

"And I suppose if one of us is caught using our powers, then they lose?"

"See? Very simple."

"Yes, simple." He started to relax again, letting a little smile slip onto his face. "One could think of it as a test of restraint." Well, this would be, as Crowley would say, 'easy street'. Resisting temptation was something angels were bred for.

"Well, maybe not that simple."

Aziraphale should have known it was too early to settle in. "What's the catch?"

"I know you. You're going to lock yourself up in your bookshop until I snap. And once the game started, I would lock myself up in my flat and that would be the end of it. And that, Aziraphale, is why tomorrow morning," he grinned, the manic kind of one who had been planning this since Adam and Eve left the garden, "we get in my car, and we go on a trip."

The angel's face paled. Sitting in Crowley's car to travel to the Ritz was exciting enough. How is he supposed to maintain his composure for an entire day in that death machine?! "Where would we go?"

"We head north. Let the roads take us where they will us."

"You don't even have a specific place in mind?" He was starting to panic. Making up plans on the fly might have been Crowley's style, but it certainly didn't mesh well with Aziraphale.

"Nope!" Yet Crowley was smiling, pacing the floor with excitement written all over his body. "We go on a road trip like humans would. Really blend in among them."

"And therein lies the game." Aziraphale mumbled to himself, dread building in his stomach. This is what he gets for being too rash in accepting Crowley's deal.

"Aw." Crowley clicked his tongue as he looked at Aziraphale, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "You're willing to give up already? We haven't even started and you look like you're ready to throw in the towel! What would Gabriel think if he saw you backing down from a demon's challenge?"

"Nothing. He's stopped associating with me, remember?" He said blankly.

"Exactly. Nothing to lose, but nothing to possibly gain if you back away now."

Aziraphale thought this through. He should have known there was a catch. Being stuck in a car driving 90 miles an hour with Crowley with no miracles. What if the car breaks down? What if they have to hitchhike? Whoever picks them up could be nice, but what if they were those human traffickers you heard about in the news? Would he be willing to lose the game to keep them alive? What about Crowley? Was he willing to sacrifice his pride to protect them? Even with all these concerns, Crowley was right about one thing. If he didn't take risks, he couldn't possibly win and reap the rewards.

"Fine." The angel sighed, weighing his options and choosing his answer. "I'll play along."

"Very good." With a smirk, the demon slithered back over to Aziraphale. "Then I'll pick you up tomorrow morning, 10 AM sharp."

"That early?"

"Yes. That's when we'll begin." He placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a peck on the cheek. Aziraphale suddenly felt light-headed. "That is, if you're fine with that, of course."

He shouldn't be this jittery. It's been a week since they've evaded Heaven and Hell's punishments, they kissed every day after that, and Aziraphale still trembled with excitement with each one. When is he ever going to get used to this? "Y-Yes, that's-" He cleared his throat, clenching his hands into fists on his knees. "That's fine."

"Perfect." The worst part was Crowley knew how excited Aziraphale got. After every kiss, he would look the angel up and down, see how much he struggled to maintain his composure, and give a devilish smirk. He knew Aziraphale was having difficulties keeping to himself, and he was cracking the shell bit by bit. "I'll see you then." He got up and turned away.

"You're leaving?" Aziraphale asked with a tinge of disappointment.

"Yeah, haven't checked on the plants all day today." He checked his watch, mumbling to himself. "Better not have gone and made themselves brown while I was gone."

Poor things, Aziraphale thought. "Right, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mmhm." And as he walked to the door, he raised a hand in a wave. "Love you!"

Like always, Aziraphale felt that dreamy feeling spread from his chest to the rest of his body. He almost didn't respond back this time, he was so hypnotized by those words. "I-I love you too, my dear!"

The door opened, the bell lightly rung, and the door closed. Aziraphale was left alone with himself again. With his face boiling like lava, he sat back and brought his hands to his face. "Pull yourself together, Aziraphale. For goodness sake, it's been a week, you should be used to this by now!" But he wasn't. No amount of lying was going to change that. He sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

There really was no way he was going to get used to his new reality, was there?

* * *

 

Crowley laid his head on the wheel. Aziraphale stared at the street ahead, feeling a migraine coming on. They had been sitting there for about five minutes, sitting still at the side of the road. No cars drove by while the Bentley was parked there, and the next station was fifteen minutes away. Well, fifteen minutes away by car. But that wasn't an option at this time.

"When was the last time you filled the tank?" Aziraphale asked.

"Never. Why should I?"

"It never occurred to you that perhaps the car might run out of fuel while we were on the road?"

"It occurred to me when the engine stopped, yes." Crowley said.

"Right." Aziraphale looked out the window. The road was built atop a hill with such a gentle slope, it would be difficult for anyone to trip on and roll down. Trees sparsely covered the landscape, and there was a river about a half-mile away in the distance, sparkling in the setting sunlight as it flowed. The land was green, covered in the healthiest grass and plants. Landscape artists would sell their souls for the chance to paint this scene. "At least it's nice out."

"At least it's nice out," Crowley mumbled, mocking Aziraphale's delicate tone.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, frowning. "So you want to fix everything and we can be on our way?"

"Oh no. No, no, no, I will not have you thinking you can sweet talk me into giving up. I play these games to win, angel. No less than that!"

"Well." Aziraphale frowned, leaning back onto the head rest. "I suppose this is how we spend the night. In a Bentley with no fuel in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh," Crowley pouted, his voice drenched in sarcasm, "but you have such a lovely view."

Aziraphale sighed, frustration rising up and leaking into his voice. "Just trying to make the best of our situation. Besides, the game was your idea."

"I know it was."

The two sat in silence. Outside, the air was beginning to chill as the sun started to make its descent in the sky. In about two hours, it was going to be the most wonderful shades of violet and pink, a sight that painters would do anything to capture on their canvases.

"So where were we going?" Aziraphale asked.

"Hm?"

"Where were you really taking us? Surely, you had an ulterior motive."

Crowley adjusted his sunglasses. "What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking. There has to be a reason you suggested us driving out here, and it's not the game. True, what you said before about us locking ourselves in a room could have happened. But you could have just added 'no hiding in our rooms' as a rule, and if either of us broke it, that would be considered a loss. Am I correct?"

Crowley hummed in response.

"You could have just have us walk around London and have us do what we usually do, lunch at the Ritz and feeding ducks at the park. But for this, you have decided to take us out on the road towards God-knows-where."

And Crowley mumbled something under his breath. A casual listener wouldn't have heard it as English, just a bunch of syllables put together in a random sequence.

"I beg your pardon?"

Crowley sat up and enunciated clearly. "Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch."

They paused. In the four seconds it took Crowley to give his answer, Aziraphale was looking through every language he could think of for any hint on what the Crowley was saying.

"I. What?"

"It's a village in Wales. 'St. Mary's church in the hollow of the white hazel near to the rapid whirlpool of Llantysilio of the Red Cave'. From what I heard, it was just named that as a publicity stunt for the railway station there in 1869."

"Did it work?"

"Last I checked, they get about 200,000 visitors a year. They're doing well in the tourism department if that's the case."

"Yes, I agree." Aziraphale paused, and Crowley let out a sigh.

"It would have been funny. You would see the sign with the name on it and I would see you try to pronounce it, and it would have been great to watch you try to speak Welsh."

"You don't think I could do it? Pronounce it, I mean."

"You could do it." He raised a finger. "Watching you stumble through it first, that would have been the fun part."

Aziraphale sighed, putting his hands to his face. Of course they would drive for this long just to see a sign with a really long name on it so Crowley could try to get Aziraphale to read it correctly. "That's why we're here, is it? Because of a sign at a railway station."

"Mmhm." Crowley pursed his lips and nodded.

Aziraphale was ready to do something violent. Crowley said no miracles on a road trip to see a sign at a railway station. If he wasn't set on winning, there would miraculously be just enough petrol left in the tank to take them back to London. And Crowley wasn't ready to give up either. If need be, they would sit in the car all through the night. Right now, Aziraphale wasn't ready to spend any more hours in a space that seemed more and more cramped by the hour.

"If it's alright with you," Aziraphale said, grabbing the book resting on his lap and opening the door, "I'd like to get some fresh air."

"Yeah, of course." Crowley was resting his head on the wheel again. For the life of him, Aziraphale couldn't figure out what emotion he was feeling, but perhaps some space would lighten it.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Aziraphale groaned as he stretched out his legs. Lord, he had such a cramp! Sitting in the Bentley for five minutes at a time was fine for him (even though this was due to Crowley's speeding). But nearly four hours was enough for his legs to almost give out when he got out of the car. He swore he felt something crack into place when he stood up. After smoothing out all the aches and stiff muscles, he took a look around. And oh dear, it was simply marvelous out here. The beams of the sun's heat matched perfectly with the light breeze. It was the perfect temperature, and the view of the river was gorgeous. Poets could find inspiration in this place.

Speaking of poets, he looked to the book he had brought with him to entertain himself for the trip. It was a volume he recently found of Edgar Allan Poe's works. Yes, Aziraphale had read them all before, but there was something about how dark and dreary these stories were that he couldn't look away from them. He still remembered the first time he read The Tell-Tale Heart. It made him realize how creaky the floor of his bookshop was, and his imagination spiraled out of control on what could be hidden beneath them. Imagine his relief (and a small bit of disappointment) when it was just because of how the nails rubbed against the floorboards.

There was the slam of the car door behind him, knocking Aziraphale out of his dreamy stare at the world around him. He turned to see Crowley, looking around with a red blanket rolled under his arm. "I was gonna wait until we get there," he gestures vaguely down the road, "but we'll have to settle for this."

Aziraphale looked to the blanket, quickly realizing what the serpent's plan was. A smile crept onto his face. "You could have just said you wanted to have a picnic. Be simpler than setting up a 'no miracles' game."

"But if we didn't have the game, you wouldn't be impressed with the champagne I got."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "And what, might I ask, is the champagne you got for this occasion?"

"You'll like this." Crowley walked to the trunk, opened it, and gently pulled out a bottle. Seeing the label yellowed with age, Aziraphale could only guess where and how he got this antique. "1928. I'm told it was an excellent year for Krug."

"How did you come across that?" Aziraphale asked, examining the bottle as Crowley brought it over to him.

"Just happened to be connected to the right people when I asked around for it."

He raised an eyebrow. "'Just happened' to?"

Aziraphale knew Crowley was rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Yes, angel, I actually talked to people and didn't manipulate them in any way, shape, or form. It's amazing the kind of stuff humans will give away if you ask nicely." He rolled the blanket out under a nearby tree in the shade. "Now make yourself comfortable while I-"

"Fetch the glasses?"

He smirked. "Nothing gets by you, does it?"

* * *

 

"It's a bloody bird, mate!"

"Crowley. Crowley, the raven is a symbol, it means-"

"Freaking out over a bird, he is!"

Crowley was resting his head on Aziraphale's lap, trying to make sense of classic poetry with a mind stained with alcohol. After a couple glasses of the champagne (which was fine, not the best, but could be worse), Crowley noticed the book Aziraphale had brought with him and recognized the name of 'that gloomy chap who desperately needed a nap'. Aziraphale attempted to tell him about how Poe's life was miserable but was able to channel his emotions into his writing and became a household name. Crowley countered with Poe marrying his 13 year old cousin at one point. That shut Aziraphale up for a solid ten seconds before flipping to the author's most famous poem, telling Crowley to be quiet and listen, he needs to read more anyway.

"I think he's reasonable to 'freak out'." Aziraphale argued. "This bird is talking to him."

"It just says 'nevermore' over and over. It's not a raven, it's a parrot!"

Aziraphale rubbed his temple, feeling a headache coming on. "This man is mourning his wife. As you know, ravens are seen as symbols for death and paranormal forces."

"Smart birds, ravens. Use their beaks like fingers to point at stuff."

"The raven always answers 'nevermore' to the narrator, and that's especially important because," he took a breath, though he didn't need to, "because the narrator views 'nevermore' as meaning there is no life after death!"

"They like to roll around in the snow, too. Birds don't do that."

"So he believes his lover, Lenore, has passed on and gone to heaven, but hearing the raven answer 'nevermore', he believes there is nothing for him after death, and that," Aziraphale raised his glass, the champagne threatening to spill and stain the blanket beneath the two, "is where it becomes tragic!"

"What if somebody taught it to talk?" Crowley looked up. He had taken his sunglasses off before settling on Aziraphale's lap, and he stared up at him with the eyes of an intoxicated snake.

Aziraphale paused and looked down at Crowley. "What?"

"Yeah, I saw these videos of ravens saying things like 'hello' and 'you alright, love?'." His eyes widened as he explained, as if the information just now etched itself into his brain. "What if somebody taught the raven how to say 'nevermore', but then it flew off and happened to fly into this guy's home?"

Aziraphale blinked, weighing his options. Dropping the book onto Crowley's face was very tempting. "I'm sure it's not that."

"Let this bird into the guy's house for a lark."

"It's not that, and you know it!" He yelled, causing a bird to flee its nest in the branches above them. "You're just being. Being. Silly!"

"I'm just giving my interpretation of the text. Isn't that what readers do? Interpret things?"

"Not when they come to such ridiculous conclusions!"

"Er, excuse me."

Aziraphale was interrupted by a third voice jumping in. With pink cheeks, Aziraphale turned to the source. If somebody heard this voice and were asked to describe the speaker, they most likely would have said the man was tall, with broad shoulders and arms with muscles strong enough to bend steel bars in two. Maybe this man also had a five-o-clock shadow and short, brown hair. And for the most part, they would be right except for one thing. This man couldn't bend steel bars. Brass maybe, but not steel.

"That Bentley parked on the side of the road wouldn't belong to you, would it?"

"Oh! Yes, it is!" Aziraphale perked up. "Is it in the way? I'm afraid we ran out of petrol and had to stop."

"Ah, I see." The man nodded. "Underestimated the distance, eh? Where were you headed?"

"Llana..." Aziraphale paused, trying to remember what the name of that village was. "Llanfairapwellgetsch...Er." He stumbled, racking his brain for what it was called.

"Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch." Crowley answered without skipping a beat.

"Yes!" Aziraphale smiled, relieved to finish embarrassing himself. "That's the place!"

The man smiled back. "If it's not too much trouble and it's alright for the both of you, I was heading in that direction. Maybe we could find help for your car along the way? Hate to see a vintage beauty like that ignored any further."

Aziraphale clapped his hands together. What luck! Thank goodness for random acts of human kindness! "Oh, that would be wonderful! I don't know how I could ever-"

"That won't be necessary." Crowley murmured, raising a hand and snapping his fingers.

The man tilted his head. "What do you mean?" A powerful _vroom_ caused the stranger to jump and turn to the source. The Bentley's lights had turned on, the engine purring as if it were going to race down the road any minute now.

"Because my car is fine. You can be on your way, thanks for your generosity and all that."

"Oh." Turning back to the two with a tinge of disappointment, he waved as he began to walk away. "Well, you two have a good night! Drive safe!"

Aziraphale simply waved back, confusion written all over him. "Yes, uh, you too."

He waited for the sound of a car door opening, closing, and a car driving away before speaking to Crowley. "Did you have a backup supply of petrol or did it appear from nothingness?"

"I'll be burning in the deepest circle of hell before I leave my car alone out here." He looked up, eyes completely focused now. "So what's your first command?"

Smiling warmly, Aziraphale looked back to his book. "You are going to sit there and stay quiet while I finish reading this poem."

"Fine. But can I ask something first?"

Aziraphale paused and considered it. "I guess it wouldn't hurt."

"What are you really going to have to do with me?"

His cheeks turned a deep crimson. "It's so embarrassing."

"Come on. No judgement here."

"Well." Aziraphale cleared his throat, speaking as dignified as he could. "I was thinking of trying something humans do when they lay down together."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, his interest showing. "Oh?"

"Yes. I believe it's called...spooning."

"That's it?" A giggle slipped into Crowley's voice.

Aziraphale groaned, hiding his face into his book. "Oh, I knew you would think it's stupid! But I've read about it and it sounds so wonderful to hold someone close to you like that that I just thought-"

"It's not stupid, angel." His hand reached up, grabbed the book, and gently pushed it away from Aziraphale's face. "If that's something you want to do, I won't make a fuss. You get to tell me what to do for the next 24 hours, you know."

There it was again. That warmth in the demon's eyes that made Aziraphale's heart flutter. He loved those eyes. They were the shade of gold and amber mixed in perfect harmony. It matched the color of the setting sun starting to make its descent over the horizon as they spoke. And there was the urge again. Aziraphale was getting used to it, even after all these years. It was the urge to take Crowley and never let go, not for anything. It was the same urge that overtook him that one night at Crowley's flat, when they shared their first kiss and were finally free to express themselves. Nobody's watching. There wasn't any harm in sharing these moments.

Aziraphale let the urge take over again as he leaned down and kissed Crowley on his forehead. "Sorry. I forgot to say I love you today."

Crowley answered in a voice as soft as velvet. "It's not too late to say it, angel."

Aziraphale smiled and closed his book, forgetting about the poem he was reading. "I love you, my dear."

"I love you too." Crowley sat up and kissed the angel's cheek.

Even as the breeze began to chill as night took over, they sat on that blanket under the tree until the moon had reached the top of the sky. 'The Raven' would have to be postponed for another time.


End file.
